How Well
by Eva Galana
Summary: Just how well does Byron Hawke's companions - those who claim to know and love him best - really know hom? A Secret Santa gift to fellow Cheeky Monkey, pennies-4-eyes. And, by extension, all of you!


_My Secret Santa gift to fellow Cheeky Monkey, pennies-4-eyes._

_And, by extension, my Christmas gift to all of you! Merry Christmas! *cheeky grin*_

_How Well…_

It had been growing steadily dimmer during the day, ever since their sojourn into the dark of the Deep Roads. A foreboding of things to come, he was certain.

Shaking his white head free of those gloomy thoughts, Fenris glanced over at his companions, olive green eyes flickering first over the voluptuous figure of the lovely Rivaini pirate that had, somehow, insinuated her presence within Hawke's usual group. He did not miss how she would lower her wide, brown eyes at the male rogue, full lips pouting slightly to catch the man's attention. The elf nearly chuckled aloud; little did she know that, even with her vast assets, she simply lacked the necessary…equipment….to capture the handsome human's attention.

That thought, of course, brought his attention to their other companion: the blond male mage, Anders. It took effort – conscious effort – on Fenris' part not to sneer at the bedraggled appearing mage, who was, at this moment, arguing with Hawke over some nonsense with the mages. The elf did not need to focus upon the words, as they were always along the same vein:

The mage plight this…this mage plight that…Why Hawke continued to allow the fanatical man to follow him was beyond Fenris' understanding. After all, Hawke had made it clear – many times – that he felt mages needed to be in the circle. Although, he had protected his own sister, Bethany, against such a fate. And, while some might see that as hypocritical, even Fenris understood the importance of family.

And for Hawke, everything he had done to this point – every life he had taken, every mage he had returned to the Circle, every puissant job he undertook - was to bring his family, or what was left of it, back to their roots.

"Will you just stop needling me!" Anders finally snarled that far too familiar phrase at the rogue, golden brown eyes flashing as Hawke flashed him a wide smirk. "We've work to do!"

Fenris' attention now focused upon the human rogue, who was gracing the mage with a deep, mocking bow. He watched as the rogue dipped gracefully, back and legs straight as he bowed deeply, left hand over his heart as dark brown eyes flashed with amusement, full, tattooed lips pulling into a smirk. The elf watched, with growing dismay, as that smirk softened into a genuine smile, a smile that Anders had obviously taken note of, as he, despite his annoyance and disapproval, returned the gesture tenfold.

_Venheadis_! Fenris swore quietly as he watched Hawke straighten, giving the mage one last glance before turning away. Why had he fled those weeks prior? He had been a fool. And now, Anders seemed more than certain to benefit from that one, foolish, cowardly reaction.

Why did he continue to just follow after the human rogue? Watching as he flirted with the mage? A mage, of all things! Ever since Bethany's death in the Deep Roads, Hawke's attitude toward mages in general had, if anything, hardened even more than previously it had been. And, even in Fenris' opinion, Hawke had been determined to put every mage they encountered (with the exceptions of Bethany, Anders and Merrill) well and firmly ensconced within the Circle.

Not for the first time, Fenris wondered why these three mages – of all the mages they had encountered – merited what could loosely be termed as mercy on Hawke's behalf. Bethany was obvious – she had been his younger sister; he had pledged to his father upon his death bed to watch over his family and care for them all. Yes, most of that pledge was now moot, as all but his mother had died under Hawke's watch. But he had been steadfast in carrying out that pledge. He had allowed his sister to journey with them into the Deep Roads on that fateful expedition, leaving Anders behind, only to have his sister die of the Blight. Later on, when he had had enough wine in his system and courage gathered, Fenris asked Hawke why, of all of the quests and jobs they had undertaken and he had left the girl behind, why had he taken her along on this obviously dangerous venture.

His response had been, well, as Fenris could have expected.

"She wanted to go."

Simple. But, in some ways, not quite fitting in with the man's reasonings beforehand. Fenris had recalled arguments between the two, where Hawke had refused the girl's demands to accompany him on other jobs, declaring them far too dangerous for her to accompany him.

So, Fenris had pressed him further, much to the other man's irritation. Finally, after prodding him and plying enough wine down the rogue's throat, had come the final, complete response.

"If I had kept her back, did not allow her a hand in our family's gaining back what was rightfully ours," Hawke had slurred, wine bottle held loosely in his hand, dark eyes glazed over and distant, as though he could see his sister's face even then, years later. "She never would have forgiven me. She would have felt…as she always had." The look he had then fixed upon the elf at that time had been nerve-wracking. Gone was the glazed haze that had settled over the man's eyes, replaced with a keen focus Fenris had only seen during battle. "That I had given up everything, for a cause that I didn't believe in – for her."

The sadness in Hawke's voice had ceased any further questioning from the elf. The conversation had fallen silent, and had never been brought up again.

But, that still left the question regarding Anders and Merrill. Well, Anders was obvious: Hawke had been attracted to the disheveled mage from the beginning. Fenris winced, wondering, not for the first time, if he had been merely a distraction to the other man. _No_. He shook his head. He remembered quite clearly how hurt and disappointed Hawke had been when Fenris had left after their one night together.

At least, that's what he hoped; what he chose, even now, to believe he had seen and felt.

Merrill…that one Fenris could not figure out. Hawke ran hot and cold with the Dalish mage: sometimes supportive of the flighty blood mage; other times, cruel and harsh with her. Well, that had been so until fairly recently. After she had started with the mirror again, Fenris had noticed that Hawke seldom went and spoke to the girl.

He had definitely missed something during one of Hawke's visits to the female elf.

He shrugged, glancing around where the group had gathered in Hightown, just at the steps outside Hawke's home. They were walking, further away, turning just before the steps to the Keep, and again…

No, wait. What? Where in the name of the Void was Hawke leading them…? No, certainly not…!

"Oh, hoo, Hawke!" Isabela called out lewdly, rushing forward to drape an arm across the rogue's shoulders. "Are you treating us all?" she asked, capturing the elf's attention. He watched, irritation growing in his chest, as the female rogue looked over at Hawke, slowly blinking her eyes as she nuzzled her head onto his shoulder. Fenris' hands clenched into fists, and he had to remind himself that he and Hawke were not together; that Hawke could well take care of himself.

Shrugging her head off from him, Hawke reached out for the door. "You can treat yourself, Isabela," he stated flatly, pulling the door open without a backwards glance. "I'm treating myself."

Laughing, the pirate followed Hawke closely. Fenris paused at the door, glaring into the brightly lit interior, frowning over as Hawke stalked inside. Taking a breath, he glanced over at Anders, who shared a pained expression with the elf. Not quite understanding why he was doing so, Fenris stepped inside, following after the pair of rogues.

###

Oooohhh…."Hawke," Isabela chuckled as she followed after her fellow rogue. "I never knew you frequented the Rose!"

Hawke barely turned to acknowledge her, pausing just inside the doorway to take in his surroundings. Isabela sidled closer, putting an arm across his shoulders yet again. As before, although a bit more irritably, Hawke shrugged the appendage from him.

"Oh, pooh," the pirate queen pouted at her friend as she rubbed up closer. "All you have to do was say something, Hawke."

Glancing over at her, Byron frowned. "I have."

"Ah, oh, yeah, that's right," she smiled prettily. "You have. Must have forgotten."

"Hmmm…" Hawke frowned, nodding as he turned his attention from her, unaware of how closely he was being studied by the other rogue.

_Too bad he doesn't like women_, Isabela sighed to herself, recalling the conversation she had had with Hawke when she had gone to his mansion, hoping for a little play time with the handsome rogue. He had been polite – well, as polite as Hawke got if 'What in the Void do you think you're doing?' is any indication of politeness.

"Oh, sorry, dear," Hawke's mother had come from a side room just as Isabela had untangled herself from Hawke's rather broad frame. "I didn't know you were planning on company."

"Neither did I," Hawke had ground out, scowling over at her as she had smiled politely at the elder woman.

Leandra, however, had seemed rather pleased, despite it being Isabela of all people, who Byron had been fawning over. "Oh, don't let me interrupt you, dear," she had said before vanishing upstairs, completely unaware of the glare Byron had fixed upon her departing back.

"Something I should know?" Isabela had asked, turning to put a hand upon Hawke's shoulder, only to have the man shrug it off again.

"You would think that a woman who has known me all of my life," Hawke said lowly, "would know that I am never going to marry a woman and provide her with grandchildren."

"Oh?" Isabela asked, moving closer, ignoring completely the glare Hawke was sending in her direction. "Does _Little Hawke_ not work properly?" She had asked as she'd trailed a wandering finger down his chest.

Sighing, his irritation obvious, Hawke had grasped the offending appendage. "No. That works just fine," he then looked meaningfully into Isabela's eyes. "Just not for the fairer sex."

Isabela had blinked once. Then twice. A guffaw had escaped her throat as she'd backed away, shaking her head. "No!" she exclaimed, perhaps a little melodramatically. "Oh damn! Why are all the good ones playing for the other team?!"

Shrugging, Hawke had allowed a chuckle. "You would really consider me one of the 'good ones', eh?"

Stopping, Isabela had searched Hawke's handsome, tattooed face for a moment before responding. "You are probably one of the best men I've ever known, Hawke."

Stunned, Hawke had remained uncharacteristically silent as Isabela had given him a quick kiss on the cheek and left the mansion.

Now…Isabela glanced over at Hawke, who was moving toward the main common room. Well, Isabela didn't know what to make of this new circumstance. The pirate queen was fairly certain that the only times Hawke had ever ventured into the Blooming Rose had always been when on missions – trying to save this person or that, get information on whatever noble quest the man had thought worth his time. Not that _she_ spent an inordinate amount of time at the brothel, but she _was_ fairly well acquainted with the girls and boys who worked within the extravagant walls to know that, had Hawke been a regular, she would have heard something at some point.

"You know, Hawke," Hawke turned to the pirate, frowning slightly. "I'd treat you."

That frown deepened. "No you wouldn't," he finally muttered before turning away. Isabela stood still for a moment, barely noticing as Fenris and Anders – each glaring at her – passed by. She was too busy watching the slight swaying of Hawke's hips as he walked away.

_Damn, _she thought, not for the first time when contemplating just how she would love to get the other rogue into bed.

"Guess I'll just have to settle for my own nocturnal fantasies," she muttered to herself before following after the men. "Oh! I have a wonderful idea for a Friend Fiction!" She did not notice the look of dismay Anders shot her as she continued with her own musings. "I wonder if Varric would help me?"

###

_I cannot believe_…Anders was thinking as he continued to follow Byron into the brothel. He had been stunned, initially, when the rogue had turned toward the building. Stunned quickly turned to dismay to horror, especially when he realized he was following the rogue into the building!

What? Why, in the name of all that's holy would he just follow Byron – the man he had been lusting after for years – into this place? Why would he even _want_ to know of his sexual exploits?

Bad enough to know that he had bedded Fenris (and the idiot elf had then run away almost as soon as the act had been completed). And watching Isabela shamelessly throw herself at the handsome rogue at every opportunity was painful, despite how disinterested Byron had seemed.

Anders paused just inside the doorway of the common room, watching as Byron settled himself at the bar, staring into the mug of ale he had ordered. Isabela settled herself nearby, leaning one hip against the bar, chatting up one of the girls, while Fenris took point at Byron's shoulder, glaring at any of the men and women who approached the seated rogue.

A frown settled over his features as Anders contemplated the man at the bar, wondering – not for the first time – why he was so interested in the rogue. Justice called Byron a distraction, and, indeed, he was. He was also a hard man, a devoted Andrastian who went to services every week, made confession regularly and asked the Grand Cleric for her blessing whenever he had the opportunity.

Byron Hawke fully believed in the Circle! Certainly, he had shown pity for a great many of the mages they had encountered, but he had always sent them to the Gallows. Only those who were proven blood mages did he show no pity or remorse toward, almost happily (well, that wasn't fair; the rogue was _never_ happy killing another living soul) ending their existences.

And he never, ever made any bones about his feelings toward mages and their places or the duty of the Templars. The damnable rogue had even made his opinions known with Anders standing right beside him! How often had the mage heard Byron praise the Templars on a job well done, or how necessary the Circles were? How often had he felt his heart torn in two whenever he considered that, had he not proven himself important to Byron, he, too, would be one of those mages the rogue would have either sent off to the Circle or, more likely, ended at the point of a dagger?

His head tipped down to his chest, eyes lifted slightly to watch as Byron finished his ale and pushed the glass back toward the bartender. There was no denying it. Anders was in love with the taciturn rogue. Justice could be heard screaming in the back of his mind to just turn around and to his take leave of this Maker-forsaken place and leave Byron Hawke behind for good.

Yet, he couldn't. He would follow Byron Hawke to the ends of the world and back, deep into the Fade, into the Black City itself if Byron said he needed him at his side.

Anders had seen flashes of sympathy toward mages from Byron. The very first mission they had undertaken together – the one where they were to try and free Karl – had proven that. Karl had been made tranquil. Instead of stating something along the lines of how all mages should be made so (as Fenris had touted on more than one occasion) Byron had begged him to end Karl's life, putting an end to his misery. Anders had also noticed how despondent Byron's eyes would get whenever they fixed upon one of the Circle mages that had been made tranquil.

So, while Anders knew Byron felt that the Circle was the proper place for mages, he certainly did not like the practice of tranquility.

And that knowledge – that insight into Byron's personality - offered the renegade mage an out, as it were. He loved Byron Hawke, a man who had sided with the Templars almost at every turn. But, he was also a man who made certain that every mage they turned in would be kept safe from harm. He had even checked in on Grace's progress (and the woman hated him), visited with Alain (the boy praised the rogue for his life), and made certain Feynriel knew he could be counted upon as a friend. Anders believed the elf-blooded mage even sent Byron letters on occasion.

_Oh dear_…Anders frowned as Byron had left the bar and mounted the steps leading up to the rooms above. Quickly, he hurried after the man, Fenris and Isabela following just as closely.

_What in Thedas were they doing? Really? Are we all going to follow the man into one of the workers' rooms…No, no! That's just too much!_

###

Byron shook his head, barely glancing back to note that his three companions were actually following him up the stairs. _Really_? Shaking his dark head, his braid slapping against the back of his neck, he continued to climb the stairs, turning at the top toward the door that led to his favorite elven prostitute.

Giving a polite knock, he waited until he could hear the elf's answer. Turning the knob, he pushed it open, turning as he went to close the door, glaring at his friends before shutting it tightly into their stunned faces. With a sigh, he leaned his forehead against the door, forcing his shoulders to relax as he felt familiar fingers rest upon them.

"Rough day?" came Jethann's unusually soft voice. Shrugging, Byron turned, the elf backing up a couple of steps to allow the rogue room. Gem-blue eyes met dark browns, an almost amused smile crossing the pretty elf's face.

"So? Are you going to tell me what brought about this unexpected but not unwelcome visit?" the elf prodded; moving away to settle, tailor fashion, upon his large bed. "You do know this is my rest day?"

With a sigh, Byron reached into a pouch, digging around for a bit as he spoke. "Can you believe that they follow me around everywhere?" he asked quietly, tone incredulous and a little angry. "I thought for certain that once I got to the Blooming Rose, they'd take the hint and, at the very least Fenris and Anders would disappear." He raised his head, hand still in his pouch. "I'll bet you that they are, right now, standing outside that door, waiting for me to…finish up in here with you!"

Chuckling softly, Jethann shook his head. "They really don't know you very well, do they, Byron?"

Sighing softly, he pulled free the packet he had searched for in his pocket. Stepping nearer the bed, he flopped down ungracefully before kicking off his boots. Turning to sit facing the elf, tailor style as the elf was, he held up the packet, grinning as a wide smile crossed Jethann's face.

"Feel like a game of poker?"


End file.
